Dragonheart
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: "Dragons...burning with might, they ruled the fires." Or at least, that was what old tales originating from the Golden Age stated. But in the age that lasted between the sealing of alchemy and its return, they were indeed nothing more than tales. At least in the minds of some in Angara. For others...well, it was a harsh winter. And some desperately wanted to end it...


**Dragonheart**

"Pardon me milady, but…aren't your hands cold?"

"They're always cold. And I'm not a lady."

That wasn't entirely true, for Silene was female. Indeed, the only female out of the column of hunters that rode through the Bilibin Pass. But for the most part, her statement was accurate. Her hands were cold. They were always cold. So while she was dressed in furs like the rest of the column, the hands that gripped the reigns of her horse were exposed to the winter air. Gloves never made a difference for her, so in her mind, there was no need for the burden.

"But surely," said Richard, bringing over his horse to ride by her. "Surely it would be wise to-"

"No. It wouldn't."

And that was that. Conversation over. Nothing now but winter's wind, the clop of hooves and the occasional rock tumbling down the sides of the pass.

Silene wouldn't miss it. She'd enjoyed this tri, but the sooner she was at home in Bilibin, the better. Even as winter gripped Angara, the lands to the south still managed to be reasonably warm at this time at year, so unlike the frozen wasteland that was on the northern side of the Bilibin Mountains. The furs they were bringing back, taken from the maulers of the north, were for status rather than warmth. It was how her father had established himself as a successful trader. Warm clothing for the winter? Easy to get. The furs of savage beasts that required a hunting party to set out in force to retrieve? That was expensive. Rare. Desirable. People wanted the furs of the maulers, and Silene's father was happy to run a business that provided them.

And in this case, finally grant his daughter's request to tag along.

Of course, he'd made sure Richard kept an eye on her. Brushing some of her red hair away from her brown eyes as the wind suddenly picked up, Silene glanced at the lead huntsman. The most he'd let her do was skin a carcass, not even allowing her to wield a crossbow. Apparently his role also included inquiring about her hands, as to why they weren't covered up. As if he didn't already know.

_Cold hands warm heart…_Silene reflected. _It's a nice thought I guess._

It never really bothered her. She was, as far as she was concerned, perfectly healthy, her recent transition into supposed ladyhood and her blooming flower notwithstanding. And yet, something that everyone seemed to comment on was her hands. The fact they were always cold, even at the height of summer. She didn't know why, but everyone seemed to take an interest in it, their comments ranging from "cold hands, warm heart" (her favourite) to "there's something wrong with that girl." Her insistent on being allowed to see the north had only added to those raised eyebrows, but Silene took it in her stride. Or in this case, let the horse do the striding for her.

At least until it stopped suddenly.

"Hold here."

Silene brought her horse to a stop as Richard held up his fist, the entire column coming to a halt. He looked around the pass, as if searching for something.

"Richard?" Silene asked, cantering her horse over to him. "Is something wrong?"

"Maybe…"

The hunter didn't utter another word. He just kept staring, keeping one hand clutched in a fist, the other on the reigns.

"Richard, if there's nothing wrong, move it," Silene demanded. "I don't want to camp in this pass."

He remained silent. He just kept staring. So were many of the men. Looking up at the crags. The scrub. The snow. Looking at nothing as far as Silene was concerned.

"Richard, my father wants these furs," the woman insisted, deciding to play the "my father's powerful" card. "And I, for one, doubt that he would appreciate such a delay."

Richard's head spun to face her, a word on his lips. A word that he managed to bite back. Because while he uttered "alright," Silene doubted that was what he intended to say.

Either way, it didn't matter. He turned around, urging his horse on.

That was when an axe embedded itself in his head.

Silene screamed as blood sprayed over her. Her horse whined. The hunters shouted. And from the crags came the blood curdling cries of…_things_.

_This…this isn't happening._

They were men. Fur-cloathed men. Some wielding axes, some throwing them with alarming accuracy. All of them closing in.

"To arms!" one of the hunters shouted, drawing out a shortsword. "To agh!"

He screamed as an axe embedded itself in his arm. He fell off his horse. The arm fell away from its host body.

_Not happening…not happening!_

Silene turned her horse around, acting on instinct, wanting to get out of the pass as quickly as possible. It was to no avail, as the column bunched itself together. Some of the hunters were firing with their crossbows, but it was a doomed effort, their jostling horses throwing off their aim. And with the savages already in close quarters, the bloodshed increased tenfold. They'd come to hunt maulers. To attack from range. Most were armed only with knives. They were doomed.

Silene realized this. Her horse did too. It whined and reared backwards.

_Steady! Steady!_

She kept her grip. But lost it as the horse came crashing down, blood gushing out of its neck.

Silene didn't scream. Her head, having hit a rock, was spinning too much for it. All she could hear were shouts…steel…an ear-piercing shriek that ended with a wet sound.

And then she didn't hear anything. As if to find sound…something…she tried to get up.

A foot came down on her chest, preventing her from doing so. She looked up, her vision blurry.

_Not…happening…_

The man…she assumed it was man…said something. Pointed at her.

_Daddy…_

He reached down for her.

_Help…me…_

He grabbed her.

And that was when she blacked out.

* * *

When Silene woke up, she concluded that she wasn't dead. Her head was aching too much for that.

"Ah lass, you're awake. Good."

And the smell that assaulted her nose was a sure sign that she was still able to enjoy life. In all its rotten, putrid glory.

"Easy lass. Let me help you."

Hands grabbed her. She pushed them away. Her vision was blurry and all she could make out was some vague, humanoid shape in front of her. But she flailed. And kept flailing until warm hands grabbed hers.

"Cold hands, fiery heart."

Silene stopped moving. She started staring.

"Very good."

Was it good that she had cold hands, or good that she'd stopped resisting? It was a question Silene briefly considered before her vision cleared, prompting a new question – why was some shabbily dressed, long-haired, broken toothed man looking over her as if it was the happiest day of his life?

"Sebra," the man said, pointing to himself. "I Sebra. Shaman."

"I understood you before, you don't need to treat me like a child," Silene murmured, trying to get to her feet but finding herself unable to do so. She looked down her legs, seeing, and now feeling, her ankles. Bound by rope to a stone.

"How old are you?" the one called Sebra asked.

"Fifteen."

"Then still a child. Still worthy of Tiamat."

"Tiamat? Who-"

"The others weren't."

Silene gazed at Sebra. He looked down at her. She looked around, seeing many more men like him. All wearing furs. Many carrying crossbows, bows, and iron weapons that seemed to be at odds with the more primitive tools they carried. Almost as if they hadn't made them themselves.

"Your men served us well," Sebra said. "You shall serve us better."

"My men?" Silene asked. "What? I…they're not _my _men. They're my father's. I…where are they?"

Sebra stood there.

"Where are they?!" Silene yelled. "Where-"

Sebra took out a bag from his belt. He opened it. He pulled something out, and tossed it in his captive's lap.

"Same place where he is."

Silene screamed and closed her eyes Richard's head remained silent. His eyes remained open.

"Does it frighten you?" Sebra asked. "Not used to things like this in the lands of summer?"

Silene kept her eyes shut.

"You think you can just waltz through our lands, hunt our animals, and return home, without giving anything back?"

Silene kept silent. Her eyes remained shut.

"Look at me!"

Sebra grabbed her cheeks, his nails digging into her flesh. Her eyes popped open. She didn't want to see this man, but nor did she want to provoke him into opening her eyes for her.

"You'll serve us," the shaman whispered. "Tiamat will take you. Your blood will feed her. Your blood will feed this land. And we shall have summer. Like you of the south. Only earnt."

"You're insane," Silene whispered. "Mad."

"The cold can do that to the mind," Sebra said. "But what would you know of it?"

Silene opened her mouth. She wanted to bring up her cold hands. That no sane mind would ever think that dragons really existed. That even if they did, a sacrifice wasn't going to magically cause summer to arrive, and even in Bilibin it could get cold as well. But she didn't get to say any of this. Because more savages were arriving, and as she opened her mouth, something was put in it to gag her. Like something to bind an animal. It _felt _like something from an animal as well.

"Take her to the cliffs," Sebra said. "Tiamat is waiting."

* * *

"And so, Mother of Dragons, we present this flesh to you. Chilled by the seasons, yet still warm in heart!"

_Gotta escape, gotta escape…_

"May you take this offering into your own heart. May you find it within your heart to free us from the grip of winter!"

_Gotta escape, gotta escape…_

"Tiamat, we implore you!"

_Gotta escape, gotta…_

"Tiamat, we-"

_Oh would you shut up?!_

Silene knew she would die if she didn't break free from the ropes binding her to the wooden pole that had been jammed into the snow beneath her. The method of that death however, was up in the air. Freezing to death seemed to be the most likely cause. Being bored to death by Sebra's inane prattling was another possibility. Or maybe his tribe would realize the foolishness of this entire exercise, and decide to kill her themselves.

"Tiamat, come to us!"

Thumping her head back against the pole in frustration, the girl thought that if such a realization was to occur, it would be a long time coming.

They'd been going on and on like this for hours. Prattling on about a dragon, a creature of a bygone age that was about as real as chimeras, mermen, or griffons, to name three creatures out of the multitudes that inhabited the realm of tale and song. By now it was night, a cold wind was coming from the sea over which the cliff they were on looked, and while the cold was tempered by her fear, Silene had found her fear diminishing over the last few hours. There were only so many claims of dragons swooping down from the sky that she could take.

"You lied to us."

Silene stopped twisting away at the ropes. She watched as Sebra walked up to her, his shaman staff lowered, his grip on it tight, and his visage much different from the smug satisfaction he'd conveyed when she'd awoken a few hours back.

"Tiamat isn't here. You're not worthy."

"Not worthy," Silene murmured, gazing at the ground for a moment before meeting his gaze. "Well, sorry about that. I suppose dragons don't spring into reality based on the whim of lunatics."

Sebra stood still. Then he used his staff, hitting her. Blood leapt out of her mouth and landed on the snow.

"You'll die here," Sebra hissed. "Either Tiamat will come and accept our offering, or you'll be taken in by Mother Frost."

"Mother of Dragons, Mother Frost," Silene murmured, even though the ache in her jaw and blood in her mouth wasn't making talking easy. "Heh…two mothers, and still so ill behaved."

The staff hit her. More blood landed on the snow.

"Come on," Silene rasped. "You gave Richard an axe. Now you're just being sloppy."

The staff hit her. In the gut this time. Reeling from the blow, Silene lowered her gaze as her head sagged down. And kneeling down, Sebra came down to her level.

"Your men are feeding the crows. And if Tiamat doesn't come, they'll feast on you as well."

Silene didn't answer. She wanted to, but couldn't bring herself to invite more pain.

"Maybe they'll feed on you while you're still alive. You even seen a murder of crows, cunt? They'll fight over flesh to the extent that they'll murder each other to get to the flesh."

Silene glared at him.

"The eyes go first by the way."

The glare stopped.

Silene kept staring down at the snow, even as Sebra stood up. The snow stared back at her. It kept staring until the blood took its place. Blood that grew in volume as more seeped out of her mouth.

_Should be dead already._

It was cold. The wind was picking up. Her whole body felt cold, not just her hands.

_Want to go home._

It would be night at home. Her father wouldn't be worried about her yet. And chances were by the time he _did _get worried, she'd no longer be worth worrying about. Not unless her corpse carried great a value once the crows had got to it.

"Tiamat! Tiamat!"

Or maybe maulers would get to her, Silene supposed. They weren't scavengers, but in the depths of winter, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Mother! Mother of Dragons!"

The tribesmen being a case in point. So desperate that they were willing to kill decent men and sacrifice decent (she hoped) women to fill the whim of a creature that-

"Tiamat! She comes!"

_What?_

Silene looked up, expecting to see the stars and moon. Instead, she saw…a thing.

"Tiamat!" the tribesmen called. "Tiamat!"

Silene couldn't speak.

"Thing" was the first word that came to her mind, but it didn't do the creature justice. A mere thing didn't have glowing green eyes. A mere thing didn't have purple and lavender scales, with things that extended at least fifteen feet. A mere thing didn't have razor sharp fangs or breathe fire into the air, as the thing, no, _dragon_ did.

_Tiamat, _Silene thought.

"Tiamat!" she heard Sebra yell. "Tiamat has come!"

Silene heard the sound of heavy footfalls in the snow. She stopped hearing them as the creature hissed, staring at her, before turning its gaze to Sebra.

"An offering," the shaman declared, falling down to one knee. "To you, Mother of Dragons."

The creature tilted its head. Did it understand what the shaman was saying? And if so…Silene swallowed, her warm blood trickling down her throat. Was he right about the notion of sacrifice?

"Free us from winter," Sebra intoned. "This one is still pure. Our gift to you."

Tiamat tilted its…_her _gaze to Silene. She winced and closed her eyes. Fire, teeth, neither option of being sacrificed appealed to her.

_Gonna die, gonna die._

"Enjoy," she heard Sebra say. She also heard more hissing, and growling.

_Gonna die, gonna die._

"Face the Mother, child," the shaman whispered. "You owe her that."

Silene opened her eyes. She didn't know why. Why she was obeying this bastard, or why she 'owed' this flying monstrosity anything. Apart from saving her by death by exposure and/or crows of course. Salvation that was cold comfort in more ways than one.

Tiamat drew her head back. The steam that once came out of her nose seemed to be being drawn back in. Silene whimpered. Sebra chuckled.

The fire came.

Silene stopped whimpering. And for a moment, Sebra screamed. So did the rest of the tribesmen.

_What on earth is-_

No. Not earth, Silene reflected. Earth was one of the four elements, but right now, drowning out the cold of wind, incinerating the snow, fire was dominant. The fire that came from Tiamat's jaws. The fire that had consumed Sebra, and was now coming towards the rest of the tribesmen, Tiamat striding forward.

"Tiamat!" they cried, their words now stemming from terror rather than wonder. "Tiamat!"

Silene twisted her head as best she could, looking at the spectacle. Bursts of fire came from the dragon's jaws, either driving her captors back or incinerating. Some died. Most fled. Some, as far as she could tell, were throwing axes and shooting crossbow bolts, but whatever the projectile, they hit Tiamat's scales without impact before landing on the snow. Or rather slush, as much of the snow was becoming.

And then it was over. Like the attack on her convoy, it was over. Only she was conscious. Alive. And…

_Stuck with a dragon._

Silene struggled. Struggled harder than she'd struggled against her bindings than she had in the last few hours. She struggled harder still as she heard the **thump thump thump **of heavy footfalls.

_Fly away, _she pleaded in her mind. _You don't need me. You're not hungry. You can feed on the bastards that did this to me. You're not interested in sacrifices, right? You…you…you…_

Silene trailed off. Tiamat had returned. Was staring at her.

"I…don't come any closer," Silene whispered.

Tiamat snorted a ball of fire. It hit the snow before her, its fire continuing to crackle even as the snow melted.

"You…you don't want me, right?" she asked. "Sacrifice, ending winter, all that?"

Tiamat tilted her head.

"Or…maybe you're hungry." Silene gulped. There was no longer any blood in her mouth, but chances were there would be in the next few seconds. "Maybe…"

Tiamat leered forward. She extended a claw, curving it like a silver sickle.

Silene closed her eyes. This was it. The end. It-

"Oof!"

She stumbled, hands forward, into the snow, landing by the fire. She looked up, seeing Tiamat shaking the ropes off her claw.

Silene couldn't speak. Dragons, sacrifice, dragons saving her from sacrifice…it was too much.

"Why?" she asked.

Tiamat didn't answer. Instead, she turned around, facing the ocean. She sprung off the cliff, falling for a moment before taking flight. Silene watched the dragon fade away, before long appearing as large as a bat.

Silene didn't know why she was still alive. Whether she'd last long enough to make it to Bilibin, or head for Imil in the north. But huddling round the fire Tiamat had left for her, still burning despite the lack of wood or similar fuel source, she found that there was at least one small comfort she could take solace in.

Her hands were no longer cold.


End file.
